


Red Sweater, Blue Slacks

by jooliewrites



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blind Date, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Matchmaker Michaela, Matchmaking, Mutual Pining, Pining Oliver, pining connor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 15:56:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4925836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jooliewrites/pseuds/jooliewrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His date was late.</p><p>Connor’s gaze did another pan of the room and came up empty. He should never have agreed to this. A blind date. What had he been thinking?<br/>He stepped away from the bar to do a turn around the room. Michaela said the guy was wearing a red sweater and blue slacks.<br/>Red sweater, blue slacks. Red sweater, blue slacks. Red swea-</p><p>Then, Connor saw him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Sweater, Blue Slacks

His date was late.

Connor’s gaze did another pan of the room and came up empty. He should never have agreed to this. A blind date. What had he been thinking?

On the whole, he found dating tedious and very rarely worth the trouble. Blind dates were something to be avoided at all costs.

Damn Michaela and her fucking ‘perfect’ wedding.

_“I got your RSVP.”_

_“Yeah. What’s wrong? I made sure to pick the chicken ‘cuz you said it’s cheaper for you guys.”_

_“It’s not the meal choice, Connor. It’s the guest.”_

_“What guest? I didn’t put a guest.”_

_“Exactly!“_

_“I-I don’t see the problem.”_

_“The problem is you are standing up in my wedding and you’re going stag.”_

_“…I still don’t see what the big deal is.”_

_“The big deal is that you need to bring a date. You have to bring someone.”_

_“I don’t have someone!”_

_“Well, find someone.”_

_“Michaela! The wedding is in five weeks. How am I supposed to find someone to bring in five weeks?”_

_“Easy. I’m going to help you.”_

And with those six words, Connor started the worst week of his life.

Monday had been speed dating. Michaela had sat at the table next to Connor’s to listen in and kept kicking him when she felt his answers were too ‘flippant’ or ‘untrue’ or ‘just not helpful, Connor.’ They were asked to leave.

Tuesday was a singles mixer she found online.

On Wednesday, she’d shown up when Connor was out with friends and tried to pick up guys for him. It was awkward for everyone involved.

Thursday they’d already had a dinner set up to go over some last minute wedding plans but she bombarded him instead with the most obvious set up he’d ever seen.

And finally today. Friday. A blind date.

In a desperate move last night, Connor’d agreed to go on a blind date with this guy she knew who was just ‘perfect for him!’ The only condition being that, regardless of how this date panned out, this was the final time Michaela would interfere in his love life. Ever.

Looking around the bar again, Connor wondered if this has all been some sort of trick. She’d agreed too easily last night. Been too relieved when he’d finally given in. What was the play in all this? What card did Michaela have up her sleeve?

Connor pulled out his phone and she answered on the first ring. “This dream guy’s late."

“Are you sure?” She sounded entirely too pleased with herself; it made the hair on the back of Connor’s neck stand at attention. “Look again.”

“I’m looking,” Connor spat. It was angry and frustrated but also more than a little embarrassed. He’d never been stood up before and it didn’t sit well in his stomach. “He’s not here. I’m going home.”

“No!” Michaela was quick to jump in. “Look again. He texted me when he left. Red sweater, blue slacks.”

Phone pressed to his ear, Connor stepped away from the bar to do a turn around the room. Red sweater, blue slacks. Red sweater, blue slacks. Red swea-

Then, Connor saw _him_.

“What game is this?” He asked Michaela, voice flat and cold. What had she done bringing him into this?

Oliver.

Sitting in a high, bar booth. His red sweater and blue pants were pops of color amidst the dark hardwood. He nursed, what Connor imagined to be, a dry martini as his eyes scanned the room, looking for a date who wasn’t showing up.

“Red sweater, blue slacks, black glasses.” The sing-song of Michaela’s voice tore against Connor’s last nerve.

“This isn’t a joke,” he growled out, ducking behind a group to hide from Oliver’s searching eyes.

“It isn’t meant to be a joke.” The lilt was gone from her voice. She sounded almost serious.

“Michaela-” he began.

“It’s always been him.” The sad certainty of her voice made Connor’s chest ache. “We both know it, Connor.

“Michaela-” Connor tried again.

“I didn’t tell him it was you,” she explained. “He thinks he’s meeting a guy from Daniel’s office. An investment banker.” She blows out a sigh. “I didn’t want to lie, not to either of you, but I wasn’t sure what either of you would do if I told the truth.”

“So this is a game.”

“If you like,” she said and Connor could hear the shrug in her voice. “But this is my last play. Your move now, Walsh. Don’t leave him sitting there all night.”

And with that, Michaela hung up.

Cursing them both, Connor shoved the phone back in his pocket and snuck a glance at Oliver.

Oliver’d pulled out his own phone and his eyes danced all over the room while he pretended to check up on something. Nothing about him looked off; his expression was placid and every hair in place.

But years of friendship gave Connor the advantage and he could see beneath the surface. He could read the subtle sadness in the line of Oliver’s shoulder and see the resigned disappointment in the tilt of his neck.

The hopeless romantic in Oliver had gotten his hopes up for tonight and Connor was witness to them crashing back down.

He cursed Michaela again, vicious and cruel. He knew she meant well but, in Connor’s estimation, the hurt seeping off Oliver offset any good intentions she may have had.

_Don’t leave him sitting there all night._

Hell!

Connor came out from behind the crowd. Unbuttoning his suit coat, he fixed a casual smile on his face. Nothing too warm or predatory about it. Just a simple, carefree smile that easily turned surprised when he caught Oliver’s gaze. _Oh hey, what are you doing here?_

Connor watched the relief wash over Oliver’s features when their eyes met and Oliver broke out in with a grin of his own.

“Thank god, you’re here,” Oliver said with a laugh as Connor approached the table. Oliver leaned across the table after Connor slid in the other side of the booth. “I think I’m being stood up.”

“Really?” Connor laughed a little.

He looked up and saw the delight dancing in Oliver’s eyes when moments ago there had been sadness. The truth sat, right there, on the tip to Connor’s tongue but the delight in those eyes was intoxicating; he never wanted to see it dim.

“That’s funny. I think I’m being stood up, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> [x](http://ramblesandreblogs.tumblr.com/)


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